


A Different Kind

by lescousinsdangereux



Category: Pitch Perfect (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Fall on Your Knees inspiration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-09 23:56:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2002959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lescousinsdangereux/pseuds/lescousinsdangereux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barden’s Back Room needed a new pianist. A female pianist. A pianist (it was rumored) who wouldn’t fall in love with the speakeasy’s star, the (in)famous Chloe Beale. Enter Beca Mitchell, who was positive she fit all three of these requirements. (She might end up being wrong about one.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I met a girl of a different kind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Care](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Care/gifts), [coffeesomemore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeesomemore/gifts).



> This 1920s AU has been a long time coming, originally inspired by discussions with Care about a certain character arc in _Fall on Your Knees_ (a novel which y'all should totally read). It was meant to be written for her and coffeesomemore's February AU Fest, but… clearly I’m a bit late. Better now than never? 
> 
> The playlist can be found [here](http://8tracks.com/les-cousins-dangereux/my-stardust-melody), and it includes the fabulous cover of Don’t You Worry, Child by Scott Bradlee and Postmodern Jukebox that is featured in this fic.
> 
> Also, here is some [perfect art](http://smallandsundry.tumblr.com/post/93343078565) to go with it. A big thanks to smallandsundry, who is flawless.

_\---_

_There was a time  
I met a girl of a different kind._

 

[ _Don’t You Worry, Child_ , Swedish House Mafia]

\---

 

When they had hired her, they’d said ‘maybe _this_ will work’.

Voices full of sighs and exhaustion, they had said, ‘maybe _this_ will (finally) work’.

And sure, she’d known what they meant. She wasn’t an idiot (though some folks might tend to disagree), and she wasn’t so full of herself as to assume this was about her skill. (Though she was _confident_ enough to know that she was just as good, if not better, than the people they might have normally considered.) But Beca was a realist and a realist knew that no woman would be hired as a pianist at Barden’s Back Room.

Unless a woman was exactly what they needed.

And why they needed a woman all went back to Chloe Beale.

 

\---

 

 

There were a lot of rumors about exactly _how_ Chloe Beale had forced the Back Room to look for a pianist with certain... unusual qualities. ('Unusual' meaning _a lack of a dong_ , Beca would be quick to point out, if anyone asked her. But no one did.)

The most prevalent was that Chloe Beale broke the heart of any man behind the keys accompanying her. The boys liked to spread this one, probably so that 'taming' the red-headed sheba would come with more than the typical host of accolades that bagging a particularly pretty bird might bring. And of course, these dandies were the type to think they'd be the one to do the bagging. (Bunch of delusional loafs, they were.)

Another rumor claimed that it was Chloe Beale who was doing the falling, and the _upstanding_ young gentlemen pianists were forced to quit after the singers very first (and very inevitable) jealous rage. It wasn't a stretch to imagine that it was the gals who started this one.

But Stacie had told her (and Stacie was the sort of broad who would know) that it had nothing whatsoever to do with the appendage between the legs of the pianist and everything to do with how well he could use his fingers. Not even in the dirty way (though _that_ was another rumor as well), but in the very innocent and stark meaning of how well he could actually play the piano. Chloe Beale kept demanding new pianists and the boys kept providing, but according to Stacie, none of them were quite up to the impossible standards of the acclaimed singer.

(According to Stacie, Chloe Beale was something of an entitled bitch. And Stacie was the sort of broad who would say so, word for word.)

Still, Beca had reckoned one of the former explanations was more likely than the last.

Or rather, hoped it was, since she could surely deal with either.

Because a dame like Chloe Beale certainly wouldn’t be doing any messing with her heart and Beca certainly wouldn’t be causing a dame like Chloe Beale to do any falling. But dealing with a diva… that was another matter entirely.

 

\---

 

Beca was wrong.

 

\---

 

In fact, Beca was wrong for a lot of reasons.

The most unfortunate being that Stacie had been pretty spot on about Chloe Beale.

"I am here to perform and you are here to keep up. If you cannot manage that, you will be terminated. I care not how handsome you think you are, or how charming other ladies find you; if you cannot play adequately, you are useless to me. Should you make one comment about the skill of your fingers in a context other than music, I assure you, I will make sure Luke breaks them. Furthermore..."

Chloe Beale swept into the room like a tornado; all howling winds and destruction with red flame trailing behind. No looking back, neither, because Chloe Beale didn't notice the sort of pianist her club had hired for her until Beca cut in with a tone probably too sharp for a first day hire. (But when had that ever stopped her?)

"You ain't gotta worry about that with me. None of it."

And she had to give Beale some credit; when she did turn to look at Beca, her face was as cool and composed as anything. Hardly even a blink for the woman sitting at the bench, fingers already resting on the keys.

"They hired a woman." And that was pretty much it. Maybe a head tilt thrown in, as though it would help in her appraisal of her new pianist, but other than that, nothing. "Very well, but do not think this means I will take it easy on you. Same rules apply: no flirtation, no foolish jokes, no crying, and no falling behind."

At least Chloe Beale didn't discriminate. 

That was something.

\---

 

There were a lot of somethings involved in working with Chloe Beale.

For Beca though, most of those somethings involved some form of frustration.

“That’s not right.”

Beca’s head fell back as she groaned. It was a far more gentle expulsion of her aggravation than she would’ve normally gone for. If she hadn’t been only just hired. And in dire need of dough.

“And just what’s not right ‘bout it?”

“It’s too…” Chloe’s foot tapped against the stage floor twice, drawing Beca’s attention upward to the (undeniably) pleasant sight of the singer (and her pursed lips). “You are not following what’s written on your sheets.”

Admittedly, this was true.

“It sounds good though, don’t it? Maybe if we just…”

The pursed lips dipped further downwards. “If you are not able to play what is so clearly before you, I will find a new pianist.”

“I can play it. It’s just dull as paint dryin’. You don’t have to play these same ‘ol tunes, you know. A song from this decade ain’t a bad thing. You got a voice that could pull off the new stuff, too.”

No harm in trying to flatter the singer a bit, Beca reckoned. Especially when she didn’t have to lie in the process. Especially when Chloe looked as though she were trying to hide what _might_ have been a pleased smile.

“Look, I’m just sayin’…”

And there it went; as soon as the hint of the smile appeared, it was gone. Beca nearly sighed.

“I do not pick my songs, Miss Mitchell. The club does. Now, if you wouldn’t _mind_.”

 

\---

 

Point being: if Beca had to play _In the Shade of the Old Apple Tree_ one more time, she was gonna need a full glass of hooch to get through it.

 

\---

 

The next practice featured no hooch, but Chloe was running late for the first time in her prima donna life, so that, at least, gave Beca some one-on-one time with the ‘ol black-and-whites. Her piano at home was _lacking_ (in keys, intonation, _and_ a petal and a half), so playing on the one they had at the Back Room was a big boon, even if she normally had to waste the beaut on stuff like _Old Apple Tree_.

Her fingers ached for more.

(And she meant that in the perfectly respectable way that Chloe Beale had spoken on in her first meeting with the woman.)

What was the harm in indulging herself a little?

 

\---

 

So said Dumb Dora before setting her goddam house on fire.

“What are you _doing_?”

Beca’s fingers paused on the keys. ‘Paused’ was the polite way of putting it though, and Beca normally wasn’t too polite. So maybe it’s more like her fingers _jerked_ to a halt, twitching like little guppies gasping on their last breath (the toxin of _Old Apple Tree_ already in the air). 

“Playin’,” she said, as though her fingers weren’t already shuddering at the torture to come.

“Playing,” Chloe repeated, all fully pronounced and (in Beca’s humble opinion) totally snooty. “Playing _what_?”

“Just a little somethin’ I—”

“Never mind.” The cut off came hard and fast, like the shunting off of all emotions on Chloe Beale’s now-closed-off face. “It matters not. Let us begin.”

 

\---

 

Beca was gonna have to start sneaking in that bootleg juice. She was sure of it.

 

\---

 

Except that Chloe Beale was late again.

For the second day in a row.

A goddam miracle; that was what that was.

 

\---

 

Or maybe not.

Because five minutes later and Chloe Beale still wasn’t there, but the eyes at Beca’s back were

She was sure of it.

But if it meant avoiding songs from the 1800s for another five minutes more, Beca wasn’t about to say nothing.

 

\---

 

She got the five minutes.

Plus two.

And then:

“What are you playing?”

“Just a little somethin’ I wrote.”

She also got to finish her sentence this time around.

So that was something.

And it was something new.

 

\---

 

The fifth time Chloe Beale was late, the novelty wore off.

“I know you’re listenin’. Might as well come on in.”

Chloe Beale wasn’t a woman to look ashamed, and she certainly didn’t look it when she came in, but Beca liked to think she looked a little put out, if nothing else.

“What are you playing?” Chloe asked again.

“Just a little somethin’ I wrote.”

The huff she got in reply was pretty satisfying.

“Are you ever going to say anything else?”

“Are you ever gonna ask any other question?”

The way Chloe’s mouth snapped shut at _that_ was pretty satisfying too. If Beca was going to get fired over this whole thing, at least she had that.

Unfortunately, satisfaction was a crummy substitute for dough.

Fortunately, it didn’t look like Beca was getting thrown out. Not today, at least.

“Play it for me again.”

 

\---

 

In the future, Beca will look back on those five words and declare them The Start.

But on April 25, 1926, they were just _a_ start.

 

\---

 

“I wrote some words.”

A week later, and Beca had come to realize that this was the next step.

The first ten minutes of every practice had become, without any official ceremony, freestyle time, wherein Beca was allowed to play whatever should strike her fancy, while Chloe listened. In return, Beca reckoned it was only fair that she not sigh _too_ loudly when she had to switch over to songs written by people who were now a bunch of dirt and bones and gunk. 

But enough was enough. Chloe was talented beyond measure, but from the way she performed, you might think she was a robot. And Beca had seen R.U.R. at Garrick Theatre a few months ago, so she would know.

“Congratulations, Miss Mitchell. You are literate.”

Alright, so maybe she _wouldn’t_ know. Apparently, Chloe possessed the ability for sass. And even a smirk that Beca might have called _teasing_. _Gently_ teasing.

“Words for a song, I mean.”

Her fingers moved over the keys with caution, testing out a few bars as she watched Chloe for any signs of interest.

She didn’t have to wait for long. There they were, right away; tilted head, slight smile, burning gaze. And then, as Chloe carefully stepped down from the stage and came to a rest directly in front of the piano, a simple question (not even a masked command):

“Will you sing it for me?”

 It was unexpected and sudden and exactly what Beca had been waiting for. Chloe’s gaze felt heavy, but reassuring, pressing Beca’s fingers down onto the keys. 

All that was left was to take a deep breath. And sing.

 

\---

 

There was something about Chloe Beale.

Beca had known that even before she even met the broad. But now she _knew_ it, because when Chloe walked into the bar that morning, there was a smile on her face that was sort of… _everything_.

“I spoke with Luke!”

The blink she received clearly wasn’t what Chloe was looking for, seeing as her eyes immediately rolled upwards as a result.

“The owner. _Luke_. I spoke with him about us playing your song.”

There were a lot of things in that sentence that Beca needed more than a couple seconds to process. The fact that _Chloe Beale_ had gone to the trouble. That she _wanted_ to sing something new. The ‘us’. The ‘your’.

And that _smile_.

Hell. That smile.

Which was disappearing with more eye rolling.

“Truly? Nothing? Not even a ‘thank you’?”

“No! I—shit! Um—that’s—”

The smile was growing again. With every word Beca stumbled over. And Beca felt warm, all over, just seeing it come back.

“Chloe, that’s… thank you.”

The use of the woman’s given name was unintentional, and as Chloe’s eyebrows rose, so too did a wave of something akin to panic within Beca’s throat. But the smile was still there and it was even softer now, and the warmth pushed back the panic as quickly as it had appeared in the first place.

“You’re welcome.” There was a pause and… something _else_. A look. One that was maybe significant. “…Beca.”

 

\---

 

Hearing Chloe sing her song was… something. Another kind of something.

Beca had found she was running out of words for Chloe Beale, which was funny, because at first, she would have been able to describe her in just the one. But Chloe singing the words that Beca had written—voice reaching and dipping to the notes that Beca had scrawled onto a blank staff—that was beyond anything in her vocabulary.

But when the door to the Back Room slammed open and some hussy with a serious frown stormed in… well, Beca had a word for _that_. Too bad it was drowned out by said blonde, screeching like bleeding banshee within five seconds of her entering the place.

“ _Chloe_! What is—this is—what is _happening_ here?”

A significant look from Chloe kept Beca from responding with the obvious, but only just. She knew Chloe wasn’t big on people interrupting their practice (she’d once actually used the word ‘exiled’ when talking to the barkeep that’d dropped a glass during warm-up scales), and maybe Chloe had become a bit more easy-going in the past few months, but not enough that she was going to let this one go, no matter who this wailing blonde was.  

So when Chloe stepped off stage with the grace of a woman who’d been lectured on the meaning of the word from day one, Beca might have grinned. A little. Looking forward to the show and whatnot, now that she wasn’t part of the act any more.

Except that the start never came.

“Aubrey,” Chloe began, _completely_ calm, kissing both the other woman’s cheeks, like she was from _France_ or something. “What a delightful surprise.”

That definitely wasn’t the phrase Beca would have used. And it definitely wasn’t the phrase Chloe ever used when greeting _her._

But never mind that.  

“Chloe. What is this I hear about a _set change_?”

The blonde uttered the words with such a level of disgust that Beca was _sure_ she must have heard her wrong. But apparently not, if Chloe’s next words were any indication.

“Oh, yes! Isn’t it wonderful? Your fiancé said we should give the crowd a bit of a surprise! Isn’t that lovely? I think it will be quite exciting, do you not?”

It was strange, seeing Chloe this way; all charm and ease and warmth. And Beca wasn’t sure it was all an act. Beca wasn’t sure about a lot of things regarding Chloe Beale these days, in fact, but this was a far cry from the woman who had said no more than ten different words during their first several practices together.

But then, Beca was a far cry from the blonde Chloe was conversing with now—all perfectly curled hair and perfectly tilted hat and perfectly pressed skirt and perfectly applied makeup and… Beca, with her too-long hair and ‘radical’ eye-liner, was in breeches and boots and an oversized, rolled up oxford. Not exactly her glad rags.

It was one of those fun reminders that Beca was very, very far away from the world these two women lived in.

But also a reminder that Chloe—who was now excitedly explaining to ‘Aubrey’ how Luke had given her the go-ahead to try out a new song and she thought it was going to be great and it was really lucky they had hired a pianist that could compose songs too—didn’t really seem to care that Beca was down in the slums, socially speaking. She only cared that Beca could play. Could keep up with her.  And that was kind of refreshing.

Even if it’d taken them a while to get there.

Not that they were really _anywhere_ , apparently. Because blondie was frowning like someone’d just taken her pretty pearl necklace and shoved it right up the back end.

“I thought we were _over_ this silliness, Chloe, dear.” Aubrey’s face was suddenly almost _maternal_. Chastising. Her tone was the sort meant to convey all kind of reasonableness, but did anything but.  

Beca didn’t like it one bit.

“Oh, but—”

“Chloe.” It was that same tone. But this time with a condescending arm pat. Beca nearly rolled her eyes. “These songs make people happy. We give the public what they _want_. That is our job. They come here to hear you sing the songs they know.”

“Yeah, but she’s better than those songs,” came the interjection. 

And it took Beca a moment to realize that the interjection had come from _her_.

She had managed to hold back the eye roll, but apparently that had used up all her resolve, letting her mouth jump into action before her brain was fully on board. And she hadn’t realized just how strongly she’d felt about it until she heard the conviction in her own voice.

Because yeah. She was still talking. And standing.

Apparently she was standing.

Great.

“She’s much _better_ than those songs. Can _do more_ than those old songs let her display. They’re holdin’ her back.”

It was lucky she refrained from adding that _blondie_ was the one holding Chloe back, because even without that last bit, she turned on Beca with a gaze that was something _fierce_.

“I’m _sorry._ Who the _hell_ are you?”

The woman’s voice rose in pitch with the swear. Like it was something Beca should recognize as a dangerous rarity.

Chloe sure seemed to.

“She’s simply the pianist, Aubrey. Calm down.” Chloe cut in quickly, throwing another warning look Beca’s way as she took Ms. Wet Blanket’s hand, all gentle and shit. But the look was one that Beca heeded, sitting back down and keeping her big fat mouth shut, feeling kind of sore about that ‘ _simply the pianist’_ comment, if she was being honest with herself.

“It’s one song, Aubrey. Tacked on at the end. Nothing worth fretting over. If it falls flat, we will go back to the regular set the next night.”

Aubrey didn’t look away from Beca—not for a long moment. And Beca knew she ought to be the one to look away first—some kind of hierarchy thing—but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“This is a _mistake_ , Chloe. This is a very big mistake.”

It was pretty clear that she wasn’t just talking about singing a new song.

 

\---

 

“So,” Beca began, not a moment after Aubrey had stormed out of the place like it was on fire. “Who’s Mrs. Grundy?”

Chloe laughed.

It sounded sort of like relief, or maybe that was just Beca projecting. (It wasn’t like she afraid of Miss Priss! But she was kind of glad the woman was gone anyways.)

“Her name is Miss Posen, and she is Luke’s fiancée." Chloe paused. "And the woman in charge of musical selection at the club."

"Huh. No kidding. And you're what? Friends?"

The look on Beca's face must have been aghast, because Chloe scoffed as a result. "Is that so unbelievable to you, Miss Mitchell?"

"Nah. It just sorta explains a lot. No wonder you'd started out all snooty. With her as your instructor. And _friend_!"

"Miss Mitchell!"

Okay, so maybe she'd gone too far with that one, though Chloe seemed at least slightly appeased by her hurried mumbled apology and sheepish expression.

"No, I mean— I just—I dunno," Beca continued, mumbling something _awful_ , she knew. "It's like you're a bunch of different people. Chloe Beale: the performer. And then Miss _Posen_ 's project: Chloe Beale. And then Chloe Beale: the Big Cheese. And… I dunno. Then there's just the you that _sings_. When you sing the stuff you like. That's someone else too."

Chloe was looking at her with an expression Beca couldn't quite decipher, and it made her want to stop talking. Quickly. Because she was getting the feeling that maybe she was saying something she _really_ shouldn’t.  

"Aw, shit, Chloe. I know I’m all balled up here. I just... dunno who you are. Or what you _want_ ," she finished. Lamely.  

There was a long moment of silence, and though Beca felt uncomfortable, she could not look away from the curious expression on the face of Chloe Beale. 

"I... wanted to be an opera singer," Chloe finally said, breaking the silence, though not at all in the way Beca had thought she might.

"When I was a child, I mean. I wanted to be an opera singer. My father thought I had the talent. Instructed me in the art and brought in the finest tutors in the area. That was to be my path in life and I was well on my way by the time I turned eighteen. I was sent here for further lessons and to be introduced to the city that would surely make me its star."

There was a halt in the story, Chloe’s lips forming a slight smile rather than words. Beca could not determine the cause for it, but she could admit to her curiosity.

"So... what changed?"

"I fell in love." Chloe smirked at Beca's expression, nearly laughing. "Don't make that horrid face. It wasn't with a _person_. It was with... _this_.”

She made a sweeping gesture, which Beca followed with her eyes, but still lost the meaning. It was a speakeasy. A nice one, sure, but it was just a bar. One that was just as likely as any other to be closed at any moment, during these times.

Her little shrug softened Chloe’s expression, and caused her to continue in her explanation.

“With the City, I mean. The real world. I fell in love with the lights and the smoke and the clubs and the _life._ I wanted to be a part of it."

This wasn't the story Beca had been expecting. Though, truth be told, she wasn't sure what she had been expecting at all.

"I was lucky. I met Aubrey at one of my early opera performances. She was impressed, and I found out she was involved with Luke, who was looking for a new act; an act that Aubrey was going to be able to construct to her liking. When she heard I was thinking of perhaps exploring new avenues, she invited me to audition. To show her what I was capable of.

"So you see, I owe Aubrey a great deal. She was my conduit to this life. It was… more freeing than I ever imagined it would be. But—" Chloe smiled, somewhat crookedly. "It came with new restrictions. Not unfair ones, but— _well_. There is always a role to play."

The words (the _smile_ ) were sobering. And it occurred to Beca that maybe she couldn't figure out Chloe Beale because Chloe _herself_ didn't know who she was (or maybe just didn’t know who she was allowed to be). And for the second time in the span of a half hour, Beca felt a fierce protectiveness well up in her. For a woman who, for all intents and purposes, appeared to have the world.

"Not for me." Beca swallowed, looking down and running her hands over the keys, light enough to not make a single sound. "You don't gotta play any role for me."

When she looked back up, Chloe's gaze was on her, and it made her cheeks flush. Made her fingers twitch.

Because the look on Chloe's face wasn't really anything she was used to; gentle and kind and _grateful_ , maybe. And that kind of look, on a woman like Chloe Beale... it could do things to a person. Especially when combined with soft words, spoken so quietly that Beca had to lean forward to catch them.

"Thank you, Beca."

And there was that name again too. Her name. From those lips. Purposeful and _warm_.

Beca had to swallow.

Again.

 

\---

 

 

"So... we're still playing it?"

Chloe looked up, her expression almost amused. "Your song? Yes. Tonight." And then that smile. "Did you think something had perhaps changed since _yesterday_?"

"Eh, I dunno," Beca shrugged. "I just— I was thinkin'—"

"Oh, you shouldn't ever do that!"

"I was _thinkin'_ ," she continued, rolling her eyes at Chloe, "that—um—you could get in trouble for this, yeah? And I could get in trouble too, right? And since, y'know, you told me that story yesterday, I was just thinkin'—"

"It will be _fine_ , Beca." But she looked a bit appreciative. And surprised. "You _do_ think your composition is good, do you not?"

"’Course I do!"

"And I am the woman to sing it?"

"Yeah! Absolutely."  And she meant it, even if her eyes dipped down to the piano keys her fingers automatically spread out on.

"Then there you are. I do not believe there is anything further to discuss. We will play your song tonight. And it will be a great success."

Chloe had stepped off the stage by this point, coming to rest her forearms on the top of the piano, and Beca hadn't realized just how intently the woman was looking at her until she glanced up to agree. It made her breath catch a little.

(Or a lot.)

And it was moments like that—moments where Beca felt everything in her chest flutter—moments where everything softened in Chloe's eyes— it was moments like that that made Beca feel as though something significant was happening, even if she couldn't put a name on exactly what that something was.

But that was always how it had been with Chloe, hadn't it? Even from the first day of practice, there had always been something about her that was undefined, or at the very least, masked, and Beca wasn't sure what it was that made her want to dive in and discover what was there.

Because with each new discovery, she felt herself growing more and more involved.

(Sinking deeper.)

"And _how_!” She replied, going for enthusiastic. “We're gonna be great, yeah? Wanna go through everything one more time?"

Chloe leaned back, pushing herself off of the piano and taking in a breath in thought.

"No."

"No?"

Beca couldn't help it. Her eye widened.

But she couldn’t feel too displeased by the result, when the result was Chloe letting out a loud laugh.

"Oh, come now, I am not that much of a wet blanket, am I?"

"Uh—you sorta—"

Chloe waved her off. "Never mind. I am not sure I would like the answer to that question. Play me something instead."

"What kind of something?" Beca plucked at the keys, eyes searching Chloe's for some kind of explanation to the brightness she found there.

"Any kind of something." Chloe paused, taking a step around the piano. "The kind of something that will make me fall in love with it all, all over again. The city. The lights. The music. That kind of something."

She felt the air leave her lungs.

Chloe's eyes were _so_ bright.

And god. Beca could hardly breathe.

"That's—that's a tall order, Ms. Beale."

"Oh, not really."

She wasn't sure how Chloe could sound so casual. Not when she was looking at Beca like _that_.

"That's rather how your music always makes me feel."

There wasn't really a proper response to something like that.

(Or if there was, Beca didn't know of it.)

All that was left was for her fingers to stroke the keys (gently, gently) and play.

Chloe swayed alongside the piano and closed her eyes and Beca could only play.

(Apparently, that was enough.)

 

\---

 

"I know you cannot be _nervous_."

The words came from behind her, but Beca did not have to turn in order to identify the owner of the voice, seemingly a constant over the past few months—first cold, but then warm, as it was now.

"Is that really so mind-boggling?"

She _did_ turn then, only to be greeted by a crooked smile that was full of teasing, but only of the gentle sort.

"It _is_ , actually. In the beginning, I thought _surely_ a woman with such confidence could not have the skills to match."

The backstage was quiet. It typically was, with only Chloe and her present. Outside though, the bustling of the crowd was (for maybe the first time) drumming against Beca's ears, a steady murmur that made her feel a bit warm under her suddenly too tight collar.

"And now?"

Beca had only taken her eyes off of Chloe for a moment, attention briefly focusing on the sounds coming from the other side of the door. But when she turned back to face the woman, she was closer. A lot closer. It didn't help with the heat. Or the creeping tightness in her throat.

"Now that ‘over’-confidence now simply seems...  an acknowledgement of obvious skill."

The compliment was unexpected, but perhaps exactly what Beca needed.

"Oh. Uh—"

Not that she knew how to respond to it.

"—Thanks," she finished, not coming up with anything better.

But Chloe's soft chuckle followed, and so maybe it was okay.

"You have no reason to be nervous. I would not lie to you."

"Right. Not exactly known for pullin' punches, are you?"

That laugh again and was Chloe now _closer_ somehow? Beca was suddenly aware of the wall at her back. Of the narrowness of the hallway where they stood. Of the high probability of someone opening the door before them, at any moment. (Not that she knew why that last one would matter at _all_.)

"No. I suppose not." Chloe looked almost _wistful_. "I've learned that it's better not to. In this business. Being forgiving has only ever led to problems, in my experience. But apparently I am risking it yet again."

Beca wanted to ask what she meant by that, but the air was warm and her head felt light and words were _hard_. And besides, Chloe was already moving on, shaking her head and smiling at Beca in a way that didn't help her current situation.

"Oh never mind that. You're ready, Beca. Trust me."

"I do."

Words were hard, but those two, at least, came easy.

Fast and ready, like they'd been waiting on her tongue for some time now.

(And maybe they had been.)

"Then let's put on a show."

Beca nodded, hand reaching for the door, but as she started to turn, she felt a tug on her free wrist—a soft whispered _wait_ —and then she was being pulled back and Chloe was _closer_ (close enough to breathe in and too close to see) and there was the brush of something warm over her lips and it took a long moment—a moment where Chloe pulled back and smiled at her—for Beca to come to the realization that the _something warm_ had been Chloe's _lips._

She blinked.

"For luck," Chloe explained, throwing in a _wink_ as though what had just occurred had been _nothing_.

As though Beca wasn't still trying to process the entire thing.

As though she couldn't still taste a hint of a flavor on her lips that didn't quite belong there.

(But should. Or could. Or... it wasn't unwelcome, certainly. Which was— _what_ _was she even thinking right now?_ )

"Uh—yeah. Luck. Good luck."

But Chloe was already gone—brushing past Beca to enter the joint—cheers flooding Beca's ears, even after the door swung shut once again. And Beca was left standing in the hallway, trying to piece together the series of events that had led to the host of emotions that were causing her brain to short-circuit.

Had Chloe thought this would _help_?

Had she thought this would _calm_ Beca's nerves?

Had she thought Beca would be able to play even _two notes_ properly after _that_?

Good god.

(Had Chloe even thought anything of it at _all_?)

She blinked again.

And maybe that did it—hit some kind of reset button—because then she was pushing the door open and walking to the piano and her hands were finding the keys and her eyes were finding Chloe's and she was somehow _playing_ , but—

_Fuck._

 

\---

 

And Beca had thought a dame like Chloe Beale wouldn't be doing any messing with her heart.

Funny, that.

 

 

 


	2. We ruled the world

Beca could not remember much of the night before.  
  
There had been no alcohol involved, only the sounds of the crowd and the warm flush of success and, more than anything, Chloe's whispered 'for luck' and the lips that brushed against her own and the overall fuzziness that followed.  
  
So yeah, it was hard to remember anything past that daze. The cheers had been especially loud that night, or so it seemed to her now. And she remembered seeing Chloe give her a helpless little wave before being whisked off by... someone. Luke, maybe. Beca thought it had been Luke.  
  
And she must have stumbled home. She remembered that. Walking home with her hands in her pockets and her eyes on the ground and her head feeling like someone had taken a bat to her skull and made her brain bounce around for a while.  
  
But in a good way.  
  
Maybe.  
  
She didn't remember falling asleep though. Flopping into bed, sure, but actually passing out, she couldn't remember. She was surprised she'd managed it at all, really. Seemed like she'd never get her stupid brain to shut down. Not with so many fun questions bouncing around in her head. Questions like:

  * Why had Chloe Beale _kissed her_?
  * What had it meant?
  * Did girls _do_ that to each other?
  * Was it a _friend_ thing?
  * Was it weird that she’d _liked_ it?



And also:

  * _Why the hell had Chloe_ _kissed her_?



  
But she had managed to shut it all down somehow, and now she was awake and that meant she had four more hours to think about all those fun questions before she had to head to the Back Room for practice.  
  
Where Chloe would be.  
  
In _God_ knew what kind of mood.  
  
Having God knew what kind of reaction to the whole thing.  
  
Great.  
  
Things to look forward to.

  
  
\---

  
  
Turned out, Beca _was_ looking forward to it.  
  
Not even in the ironic way.  
  
Because surely, Chloe would either ignore the whole thing or... do something else. But at least it would be _something_. At least Beca wouldn't be stuck with her own _stupid_ thoughts. She was starting to feel like that time in grade school when Bobby John had thrown a pigskin right at the back of her head and her friend Sophie had said that _that_ meant he _liked_ her. (But then it turned out that, no, Bobby just had terrible aim.)  
  
But never mind.  
  
It wasn't _nothing_.  
  
Just a normal day of practice where Chloe would tell her about what everyone'd thought of their song and maybe mention the whole kiss thing or maybe not mention it, but it was fine. It was good. Beca was _fine_.  
  
And that was what she was telling herself as she pushed through the backdoor and nodded at Charlie, who kept an eye on the place, even in the daylight, and walked into the main room only to find...  
  
"Oh, there you are."  
  
The blondie. Aubrey. Standing with her hand on her hip and a look on her face that could only be described as _vicious._  
  
Beca wasn't sure what it meant, but it couldn't be anything good.  
  
"Chloe did say you had a tendency to be punctual. That is an admirable quality. I am sure it will translate well to your next position."  
  
Yeah. Nothing good at all.  
  
Beca felt tense. Like her spine would snap in half in anyone so much as bumped into her.  
  
"Wha—"  
  
"Yes, I'm afraid we will no longer need your services here, dear. We are going to go in a more... traditional direction, from here on out. I am sure you understand."  
  
"But, Chloe—"  
  
The words (few as they were) brought a chance in Aubrey's expression and stature. No longer attempting to maintain the false well-meaning attitude that had oozed from that fake smile that Beca was suddenly feeling like she might like to bash in.  
  
"Oh, _Ms. Beale_ is on the same page as the rest of us, I assure you. You didn't think that _forcing_ her to sing that awful little thing would make the two of you _friends_ , did you? Honestly, dear, you ought to not aim so high. People of your... situation. They do not really mix well with our sort. And we really have no need for such _radical_ ideas here. No need to 'shake things up', as you might say."  
  
Beca didn't really have a response to that.  
  
(Though she had plenty of shock, drowning out everything else. A sad reversal of not 24 hours ago.)  
  
Aubrey nodded, as though things had been _settled_. As though this was something she could just wipe her hands of.  
  
And yeah, she probably could. It probably was.  
  
"See yourself out. And no need to come back."  
  
Beca obeyed.

  
  
\---

  
  
"It's a buncha bushwa," Beca slurred, pounding her fist on the table. "Ab-so-fucking-bush-wa."  
  
Jesse shushed her, looking around the deserted joint like he was afraid the coppers were gonna burst in at any moment, the absolute piker.  
  
"Will you just—"  
  
"A load. Of. Shit," Beca reiterated, and Jesse sighed.  
  
"Beca—"  
  
"Fire _me_! I made it better! Me! That was—that was _my_ —our—"  
  
"For godssake, Beca, pull yourself together." The annoying disappointed look on Jesse's face _really_ wasn't helping things, but the fact that he was currently clearing the bar top of her soldiers, dead and even (one) still living, was helping even _less_.  
  
"Hey!" She tried reaching for the bottle that was still near half full, but Jesse was _fast_ today. Or maybe she was slow. Never mind.  
  
"No, you're done, Mitchell. Totally corked, you are." And with the bottles cleared away, she had to focus even more on his stupid concerned expression. It made her feel all the worse. "So tell me what's going on. _Really_. Losing a job ain't nothing. You know you'll find work. You always do."  
  
"She didn't even come. Didn't even tell me herself."  
  
And that was the sharp point, wasn't it? It wasn't the firing. Not really. (Though sure, that wasn't the best.) The thing that was making Beca feel like she ought to slap Jesse upside his head and grab another beer was that that _wet blanket_ blonde had been the one to do the firing. That she and Chloe had talked about the canning and _giggled_ over it or what have you. Just another dumb pianist. Just another nobody to leave holding the bag. Someone who didn't matter. Even after...  
  
"Even after she _kissed_ me!"  
  
Okay, so that wasn't something she had meant to say out loud. And clearly it was information she hadn’t blurted out before, since Jesse's eyes bugged out like some kind of ugly alien thing, the idiot.  
  
"Wait, _what_?"  
  
Clearly, the only defense for this was to bury her face in her arms and ignore him. Yes, Beca was really thinking now. Absolutely brilliant plan. Foolproof.  
  
"Nothing," she mumbled, from behind the fortress of her own arms.  
  
Except… not so much a fortress because Jesse was suddenly _there_ , pulling her arms away and getting all in her business and how rude can you get? Who did he think he was? She only came here for the free drinks anyways.  
  
"She kissed me," she mumbled again, and okay, _fine_ maybe she came here for a little unloading too. And if Jesse would quit looking so shocked, maybe she'd actually be able to talk to him about this shit.  
  
"Chloe."  
  
"She— but _why_?"  
  
"What do you mean, why? You kissed me once, remember? You oughta know _why_!"  
  
That, at least, wiped the stupid shocked expression off of Jesse's face, but it was replaced with something close to exasperation and Beca wasn't sure that was much better.  
  
"Well, if you kicked her in the knee like you did me, then I think I can tell you why you got fired, Mitchell."  
  
A loud shout came from the other end of the bar, and Beca pushed herself up enough to look, propping her cheek up with her left hand, but it was just some sailors having a laugh. Nothing worth anything. Nothing worth getting up for. Just stupid sailors laughing at stupid things and having absolutely _no_ sympathy for her and her problems.  
  
"That was different," she said finally, burying her face in her arms once again.  
  
"Cause why? You _wanted_ her to kiss you?"  
  
"What! No!" Her head lifted—indignation overpowering the strength of the hooch. But only briefly, because her head dropped back down again (harder than she planned) all the way to the wood of the bar. "That'd be weird.... right? Wrong."  
  
It _would_ be weird.  
  
Beca had thought a lot (too much) about it and she had decided that would be weird.  
  
And what did it matter now?  
  
It didn't.  
  
Not at _all_.  
  
She didn't need Jesse and his stupid expressions and his worthless advice that he wasn't even _giving_ by the way, just looking at Beca like she was some kind of tiny kitten that needed protecting or comforting and that was stupid because all she needed was more beer and Jesse wasn't giving that to her so she might as well go somewhere...  
  
"It's not weird," Jesse said quietly. "I don't think it's weird. Or wrong."  
  
"You—"  
  
"She shouldn't have _fired_ you, Beca. That's the only thing wrong about it."  
  
Jesse looked sincere. Maybe more sincere than she'd ever seen him. And she didn't know if she _agreed_ with him, but it was... nice. It was really nice.  
  
Especially when he slid another bottle in front of her.  
  
"I can see why you need this though. Drink up, bearcat. And tell me the _whole_ story this time."

  
  
\---

  
  
The next morning was _rough_.  
  
And probably wasn’t something she’d have seen if a loud pounding hadn’t awoken her.  
  
At first, she thought it was coming directly from inside of her skull, but after carefully opening a single eye and turning it toward the door of her cramped apartment, she reassessed the situation. The pounding was coming from her front door, which was good news in a way; it meant she could bump off whoever was waiting out there and make it _stop_.  
  
If she could manage to get out of bed.  
  
"Miss Mitchell? Miss Mitchell?"  
  
And _god_ , the buffoon actually knew who she was? Was looking for her specifically? Beca's brain might not have been working right, just then, but she was pretty sure she didn't recognize the voice. Of course, her pillow had come up over her ears in an attempt to block out the sound, so that might have had something to do with it.  
  
"Miss Mitchell? Miss Beale sent me!"  
  
Beca nearly fell to the floor in her haste to get out of her bed.  
  
She wasn't proud of it, okay? She knew it was a problem. That _she_ had a problem. She just didn't much feel like thinking on it this morning.  
  
Still, she probably should have thought a little more about putting on some _actual_ clothes before opening the door, because the young boy outside looked downright scandalized to see her in nothing more than a button-up shirt. (A long, men's button-up shirt! That covered everything that needed covering! But sure, improper and whatnot.)  
  
"Uh— "  
  
"Out with it, kid. You woke me up, y'know?"  
  
"Um—ah—Miss Beale. She—um—she says you're _late_."  
  
Beca blinked.

  
  
\---

  
  
Beca was _late_.  
  
That had been the entirety of the message.  
  
But it'd been enough to get Beca to throw on some clothes and tie up her hair and scramble out of the building with a piece of bread between her teeth. To pretty much _run_ towards the speakeasy where Chloe was (apparently) currently _waiting_.  
  
Yeah, she was pathetic.  
  
She knew.  
  
And Chloe probably knew it too, because when Beca busted into Barden's Back Room, her breath was coming hard and her _everything_ was looking a mess and there was Chloe Beale. Sitting on the stage. Looking goddamn perfect in a blue fluttery dress that matched her stupidly blue eyes and her red hair looking all perfectly coiled.  
  
And damn if Beca didn't grin a little at the sight.  
  
"You're late."  
  
And then grin a little wider at that.  
  
Because Chloe was smiling too—a little half grin that made Beca's heart thud a little harder, despite its already rapid pace—and she was dropping to her feet, off of the stage and walking towards Beca and _yeah_ , Beca had a problem and she didn't really care.  
  
"Yeah, well. Can't be late if you've been _fired_."  
  
Chloe frowned at that, and Beca suddenly regretted saying anything about it at all.  
  
"Yes," Chloe tsked. "There was a case of... mistranslation. I was a _bit_ late yesterday and when I arrived, Luke's _sister_ was waiting for me, behind the piano. Quite a shock, I assure you."  
  
Something was getting lighter in Beca's chest. A heaviness was being removed and it was like she could breathe again.  
  
"You didn't—?"  
  
"I couldn't have that kind of nepotism!" And Beca had no idea what she was talking about, but the indignation made her grin again anyways, because she was pretty sure she knew the _real_ cause. "Besides, she was absolutely _terrible_ at the piano.”  
  
"Oh? And I'm not? I seem to remember someone saying—"  
  
Chloe took a step closer and Beca's mouth snapped shut. She felt lighter than _light_. She felt like nothing would ever drag her down to the mud of this earth ever again.  
  
"Hush, Beca." Her fingers found Beca's cheek, stroking lightly. "Just _hush_."

  
  
\---

  
  
"Would you like to do something with me, Beca?"  
  
Practice was over and Beca was in the process of carefully closing the lid of the Back Room's grand, but with these words, she nearly dropped the thing, pinching her fingertips in the process.  
  
Because Beca was coming to realize there were a lot of things she would like to do with Chloe Beale.  
  
And that was, of course, a problem.  
  
A problem that probably would not at _all_ be helped by spending _more_ time with Chloe. That would be a very bad idea indeed. Like poking at a big nasty wound that would only spread and spread if—  
  
"Uh— yeah."  
  
She nearly groaned, hearing her own voice.  
  
That whole brain-mouth thing was really something she ought to work on.  
  
But Chloe was clapping her hands together and looking all excited and Beca was smitten. God, she was absolutely goofy about this girl. What use was denying it, really?  
  
"Oh, lovely! What shall we do, do you think? Go to a Nickelodeon? Or there's a fair going on up town! Or... oh! We ought to go to a real Jazz club! Do you know of any?"  
  
Sure, Beca knew of a lot. But she couldn't really picture taking Chloe Beale to any of them. Honestly, she couldn't really picture taking Chloe Beale _anywhere_. A classy gal like that and Beca... what? Just walking alongside her like she fit right there? It'd be funny if it weren't so pathetic.  
  
But Chloe wanted to go somewhere with her, didn't she? She'd been the one to ask. No pushing or fishing required from Beca. Chloe apparently really wanted to spend more time with her. So that was something. You were supposed to respect a lady's choices, weren't you? It'd be rude and brute-like to not!  
  
And Beca wasn't neither of those things.  
  
Not at all. Not one bit.  
  
"Yeah. I know a place."

  
  
\---

  
  
Stupid Jesse nearly choked on his own tongue when they entered the place.  
  
 _In Treble_ wasn't exactly the classiest place around town, but at least Beca knew she'd be able to get in without too much horseshit. And when Bumper wasn't lurking, it was actually a fun place to hang out. They had some talented performers too—no Chloe Beale and no Beca Mitchell—but some decent talent. Beca could give them that.  
  
More importantly, Chloe was taking the whole place in, looking like a kid in a soda pop shop, instead of a woman in a lousy joint with terrible lighting and a bunch of bottles lying about. It was just about the cutest thing Beca had ever seen. It was also a pleasant surprise. (And she wondered just how many more of those Chloe might be able to deliver, in their time together, however long Beca might be able to make that be.)  
  
"Oh! Isn’t this just the bee's knees!" Chloe exclaimed.  
  
And yeah. Beca's heart did a _thing_. A floppy, upside-down, twisting _thing_.  
  
"C'mon, you ain't seen nothing, Beale. Lemme introduce you to the boys."  
  
'The boys' were Jesse and Donald tonight, which was just as well, because they were two of the nicer bartenders. And two talented lads, when they switched up roles and were able to entertain. Not that Beca would ever tell them so. It'd go right to their already big-heads. Still, not like she was above it all; wearing a superior look as she strolled over to the bar where the two of them stood all slack-jawed.  
  
"Hey, fellas. This here's Chloe Beale. Sings at Barden's Back Room. Maybe y'heard?"  
  
Alright. So she was a smug little shit. But she thought she'd earned some bragging rights, putting up with Chloe in her early stages. And putting up with her now too, what with that smile she was now turning on the boys, making them go about as goofy as Beca felt around her all the time.  
  
"Hello. A pleasure, gentlemen."  
  
"Yeah, how d'you do, Ms. Beale? A real pleasure!"  
  
Donald jumped in first, nearly pushing Jesse over in his attempt at being cool, kissing Chloe's hand and all that shit. Though Jesse recovered quickly enough, pushing back just as hard and repeating the gesture. Chloe, for her part, simply looked amused.  
  
"Alright, stop fallin' all over yourself. Shesh. Y'all never act like such _gentlemen_ 'round me, now, do ya?"  
  
Jesse snickered, knocking Donald with his elbow. "We act like gentlemen around _ladies_ , Beca. Ain't that right, Don?"  
  
"Yup. Don't see no ladies 'round when it's just you, Mitchell."  
  
"Aw, dry up, you saps."  
  
"I don't particularly understand the teasing," Chloe finally cut in, her lips curled in a polite little smile. "Beca seems a perfectly fine lady to me. A bit _non-traditional_ , perhaps. But a perfectly fine lady, nevertheless. She has talent, charm, and beauty. What else do you require in a woman, gentlemen?"  
  
Beca flushed, pleasure dipping down low into her gut. Even Jesse and Donald's expressions, quickly morphing from shock to something that spoke of upcoming teasing, did little to detract from the sensation.  
  
" _Well_ , then, _Lady_ Mitchell it is. Guess that means you're too good to play anything for us _lowly_ peasant folks, eh?" Jesse grinned. "''Cause Bump ain’t around, so I might've thought you'd've wanted the make the stage yours durin' the break in sets. But if that ain't the case..."  
  
The blush was still present, but Beca wasn't one to pass up an opportunity to play. Not ever. But it was Chloe who spoke first, grasping Beca's wrist almost absentmindedly.  
  
"Oh, Beca! You really ought to play! That would be so enjoyable. Even more so than our practice sessions, seeing as it would not be followed by returning to our set list.”  
  
Huh. Well that was news. And it was news that made Beca smirk.  
  
"You don’t like our set list?"  
  
It was Chloe's turn to flush, now. It was infinitely more appealing than what Beca looked like when she did the same, she was sure.  
  
"Don't tell Aubrey."  
  
Beca laughed and Chloe's blush faded with it, her fingers slipping from Beca's wrist to her hand, giving a slight squeeze. And maybe Beca could have stayed there all night, just admiring how the slight pink on Chloe's cheeks somehow brought out the blue of her eyes, but then Jesse cleared his throat and she was pulled away.  
  
"So, you playin' or not?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah. Someone's gotta save this place from all you Hoagy Carmichael copycats."

  
  
\---

  
  
She had always loved playing the piano.  
  
Ever since she was a little girl and her father decided that she ought to be educated in his field. They'd be inseparable back then. Before he left. But that was another story entirely. It didn't matter that he'd left, because his piano had stayed. Eventually, Beca had convinced herself that _that_ was the important bit. The piano and the music and the way it would cheer her mom up for a little while, whenever Beca would play for her. The way the smile would grow on her face every time Beca showed her a new song she'd learned.  
  
And the smile on Chloe's face now wasn't anything like _that_ smile—the one her mom had worn so fleetingly—but it made Beca feel some of the same things; satisfaction and contentment and a little bit of pride.  
  
It made her feel some other things too: pleasure and excitement and a little bit of anticipation.  
  
And... the need to show off a little, as well.  
  
Which she did, with a few fancy overlaps and a few notes she had to dig for.  
  
(She'd never claimed to be modest, and neither had Chloe. She figured she could get away with it.)

  
  
\---

  
  
"Beca! That was amazing! What _was_ that?" The exclamation was accompanied by a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Which means that it took a few moments for Beca to realize that Chloe had even asked a question.  
  
"Uh—yeah—it was just a little somethin' I wrote."  
  
Chloe laughed, pulling back to smile at Beca with nothing but fondness.  
  
"You goof. Will you ever give me a straight answer to that question?"  
  
"You ever gonna ask me anything else?"  
  
Chloe's smile was sly when she nodded, hands slipping down to grip both of Beca's for a fleeting moment, before releasing them.  
  
"Sure. How about: will you get me a drink?"  
  
And in a moment of bravery, Beca pushed back in, snagging Chloe's hand back and giving it a squeeze of her own.  
  
"That I can do, Ms. Beale."

  
  
\---

  
  
"You know, we really ought to do a duet sometime. You have a lovely voice."  
  
Beca shrugged, leaning on her elbows as she watched Chloe sip at her very bright, very tall drink.  
  
"Nah. I'm more of a behind-the-scenes sorta gal. I'd rather _make_ the music more than sing it. Singing’s just the only way I can play my own stuff, sometimes. But now I got you so..."  
  
The words came across sounding more forward than Beca had planned—saying things she hadn't meant to say— but Chloe just smiled, nodding along with them.  
  
"You certainly do. But it would be fun, don't you think?"  
  
"Yeah," Beca said. Softly. "Yeah, it could be fun."  
  
"And I promise to not to be as much of a pill as I was when we first started working together. I—" Chloe's smile faded, her expression turning earnest as she leaned over the small table, hand coming to rest on top of Beca's. "I truly am sorry for how I behaved then. When you first arrived."  
  
"No! That's—it ain't nothing. Don't worry about it."  
  
Chloe shook her head. "No, I do! I do. Because... that's not me. That's not how I... used to be. Or want to be. And I hope this—us—I hope it can be the start of something _different_."  
  
It was almost reflexive, the way Beca's hand flipped over, palm sliding against Chloe's, fingers curling to lock with Chloe's own. Reflexive, but also _right_ , judging from the way Chloe's smile came back, brighter than ever.  
  
"I'd like that. I'd like that a lot."

  
  
\---

  
  
It was late when they left; sliding out through the back door that Jesse directed them towards, avoiding the crowd of gents filing out the front. There were few lights and only muted sounds, but Beca hardly noticed, distracted by the soft laughter in her ear, and the sweet smell of Chloe’s breath on her cheek.  
  
“Had a few too many Pink Shimmies, eh?”  
  
“You ordered them for me!” Chloe said, leaning further into Beca’s side and tugging at her hand. “This is all _your_ fault.”  
  
Beca sputtered, nearly crashing into the alley wall with the full weight of Chloe pressing against her, only managing to remain upright by releasing Chloe’s hand and sliding an arm around her waist (and yeah, blushing like a sap in the process).  
  
“ _My_ fault? As if anyone could get you to do anything you don’t wanna do, Chloe Beale.”  
  
“Oh, I suppose that’s true,” Chloe hummed, practically against the skin of Beca’s jaw. “But what about _stopping_ me from doing something I want to do?”  
  
“Something like wh—”  
  
Chloe kissed her.  
  
And _oh_.  
  
That.  
  
Something like _that_.  
  
Chloe _tasted_ sweet too—like the grenadine of her cocktails. The taste was on her lips, yes, but also, Beca soon found, on her tongue, which brushed against Beca's own with _none_ of the tentativeness a situation such as this might have called for.  
  
Not that Beca was complaining.  
  
Not that Beca was even _thinking_.  
  
But she _did_ crash into the wall then, back thudding against the hard brick, forcing a breath out of her lungs and into Chloe's, who just giggled against her lips and pressed closer, hands gripping against the collar of Beca's shirt. And it made Beca want to laugh as well—almost giddy with something that probably should have been illegal, as intoxicated as it made her feel.  
  
"Chlo—" Her hands were on Chloe's waist, bunching up the fabric and revealing skin above her knees— skin that Beca desperately wanted to touch. "God. Chloe—"  
  
Her intention was to _stop_. To tell Chloe they ought to _stop_. Because they were in the middle of a dirty alleyway, behind a joint anyone could come out of at any time and this was... wrong, probably. It was something they ought to stop.  
  
But Chloe was making that _very_ difficult, her lips now pressed to the skin underneath Beca's ear, her breath still so sweet and _so_ hot.  
  
"We oughta—Chloe—we oughta—"  
  
"Stop," Chloe finished, her teeth finding the lobe of Beca's ear and _fuck_.  
  
Beca groaned, sinking further into the wall and _god_.  
  
Fuck.  
  
"No. I mean—no—yeah. We gotta— "  
  
The grip on her collar loosened, but Chloe did not release her entirely, still resting her body comfortably against Beca's. Her cheeks were flushed and her pupils were blown, a sight that made Beca want to kiss her thoroughly once again. Made her want to ignore everything about this situation that was wrong or disastrous or strange.  
  
Chloe certainly looked like she was ignoring everything with great aplomb, a satisfied smile curling her lips.  
  
"Stop," she said again. "For now."  
  
And Beca felt her own smile appear.  
  
"For now," she echoed.

  
  
\---

  
  
And Beca had thought she wouldn’t be causing a dame like Chloe Beale to do any falling, neither.  
  
Life was funny like that.

  
  
\---

  
  
Heading to practice the next day brought forth a foreboding sense of déjà vu.  
  
Beca half expected Aubrey to be standing there when she entered, pursed lips and hands on her hips, telling Beca her _services_ would no longer be needed in that voice that kind of scared Beca in a way she'd never, never admit to.  
  
But it was just Chloe (if Chloe could ever be 'just' anything), sitting alone in the bar, playing with the keys of Beca's piano, staring off into space. She had to clear her throat to catch the woman's attention, smiling as Chloe nearly fell off the bench in her surprise.  
  
"Beca! You're—you startled me! You're early."  
  
There was a tinge of red to Chloe's cheeks. Beca took that as a good sign, for surely the same color decorated her own face.  
  
"Yeah. I was—I wanted to see you."  
  
The answer appeared to be the one Chloe was looking for, because she looked both relieved and pleased as it passed from Beca's lips.  
  
"Oh. That's... good. I'm glad. I—I wanted to see you too."  
  
Chloe smiled at her and Beca smiled back.  
  
And there was a long moment where they _just_ smiled at each other. Beca was aware they probably looked like absolute idiots, but she found it very hard to care.  
  
In fact... there was _no_ reason to care.  
  
The Back Room was _empty_.  
  
The place was always quiet during practice (at Chloe's insistence), but now it was actually _empty_. It was a strange enough sight to force Beca out of her stupor, though the large smile did not leave her face.  
  
"Hey, where _is_ everyone?"  
  
Chloe shrugged, _way_ too innocently, and Beca's grin grew as she took several steps toward her.  
  
"I mean, what's goin' on?"  
  
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."  
  
"Oh, right," Beca drawled. "So this whole place bein' empty is just what? A _total_ coincidence, mmm?"  
  
By then, she was close—close enough to see the mischief in Chloe's eyes. (It was a new look, and one that Beca liked quite a lot.) She was also close enough so that when Chloe stood, Beca had to suck in a deep breath, because she was _right_ there.  
  
"Yes," Chloe murmured. "A complete coincidence."  
  
"Y'know, I'm not sure I believe you Chloe Beale. This is all mighty sus—"  
  
Chloe kissed her and Beca could feel the grin.

  
  
\---

  
It was supposed to be this _big thing_ , going to the theatre.  
  
Chloe had certainly seemed to think it was a big deal, excitedly telling Beca she’d gotten tickets for a ‘talkie’, right in the front row too, and would Beca like to come?  
  
They’d been doing this for a few weeks now—this thing where Chloe invited her to nice places and Beca invited Chloe to places that maybe weren’t so nice, but made Chloe _ooh_ and _ahh_ over the novelty of it all. It was this thing that was sort of like a courtship. Impossible, Beca sometimes thought, but the necking they’d been doing last week in the back of Chloe’s Model T said otherwise.  
  
Not to mention Chloe seemed to be inclined to act as though everything they were doing was totally normal, so who was Beca to question it?  
  
(It was pretty great after all. And practice was suddenly a whole lot more interesting.)  
  
So, sure. Beca had said she would go to the theater with Chloe. See this talking film that had everyone gabbing on for ages on end.  
  
She had just expected it to be a bit more _interesting_ , is all.  
  
Like, whoop-di-doo, the guy could talk and sing. They could play his voice through speakers and match it up to the picture. Beca was as big of a fan of Al Jolson as the next guy, but this seemed like a dumbing down of the music—this adding a silly story on top of it all.  
  
‘Course, Chloe clearly didn’t agree; all excited and grinning and stuff and… well, okay, that was enough of a reason to go to something like this, Beca reckoned.  
  
That didn’t keep her from fidgeting, though; trying to keep from looking at the beat-up wrist watch that Chloe had said just a few nights ago that they ought to replace for her; attempting to not play with the ring Chloe had gotten for her a couple weeks ago, saying she had thought of Beca when she saw it.  
  
But her efforts were apparently in vain.  
  
Because Chloe’s hand was suddenly taking her own and her lips were right by Beca’s ear and she was whispering ‘come’ and then Beca was being pulled out of the theatre, angry muttering coming from behind them as they briefly blocked the view. Not that Beca cared. Or even noticed, really.  
  
Not until they were out of the theatre and standing beneath the fading sun and Chloe was still holding her hand and laughing in that unrestrained way that was becoming a more and more common sight. (Though Beca’s heart still stuttered each and every time.)  
  
“Goodness, Beca, I have seen toddlers with greater attention spans!”  
  
“Aww, shush, Beale. I just think they’re boring, is all.”  
  
Chloe tugged her in the direction _opposite_ of where either of their apartments were, but aside from giving her a questioning look, Beca did not resist.  
  
“But it had talking! And singing!”  
  
“I’d rather listen to you,” Beca shrugged, hardly even blushing (this time), even when Chloe looked at her all sappy-like.  
  
“Sometimes,” she said, squeezing Beca’s hand, “you say the sweetest things. Though I suspect they are occasionally accidental.”  
  
The blush got a little worse. “Nah, that’s not—I mean what I say, Chloe. You’re—you know.”  
  
“Do I?” Chloe teased, her shoulder knocking into Beca’s. “Maybe you ought to tell me what I am, Miss Mitchell.”  
  
It was not especially late, and the streets were not especially deserted. But no one appeared to pay them much attention at all; two girls out for a friendly stroll, with Chloe’s cloche hat hiding the more distinctive features that a well-informed person might recognize her by.  
  
“I think you’re swell,” Beca murmured. “I think you’re real swell.”  
  
Though, people might have noticed if she had kissed Chloe, right there, which was what she would have liked to have done, just then. Still, Chloe seemed to understand that the impulse was there, because she nudged Beca into the nook between a couple rundown boutiques.  
  
“I think you’re swell, as well.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Chloe’s hand was still in hers, and maybe it was the warmth and reassurance that surged from the grip that had her pull the woman closer—close enough to whisper the question that had been on her mind from some time now.  
  
“Then… what is this? What we’re doin’? What is it?”  
  
She didn’t ask the other part of the question; whether it was even natural or not. But then, maybe Chloe understood the implications therein, because her eyes were kind and accepting.  
  
“I… don’t know.”  
  
It wasn’t the answer Beca was looking for, so she was thankful when Chloe continued, her fingers touching Beca’s cheek in the lightest of ways.  
  
“But I’m crazy about you, Beca. I know _that_. And I—I want to know more. I want to figure this out. With you.”  
  
Beca licked her lips, and again, the world sort of just disappeared. It made her response pretty simple.  
  
“Me too.”  
  
Chloe was quiet for a long moment, but when she spoke, she was full of conviction, despite her soft tone.  
  
“Then come home with me,” she whispered, index and middle finger tracing the shape of Beca’s jaw. “Come home with me and let’s start.”  
  
The resulting shiver traveled from the top of her spine, all the way down to the base, clearing a path through any hesitation she might have ever felt, at any time.  
  
“Okay.”

  
  
\---

  
  
The morning brought the sun.  
  
It rose slowly, or so it seemed to Beca, watching the light inch along the crumbled blankets at the foot of the bed. But it did not move slowly enough, and she held her breath to prolong the moment—the moment where her fingers played along the bumps of Chloe’s spine and the woman’s voice echoed soft in her ear.  
  
 _There was a time  
I met a girl of a different kind.  
We ruled the world. _  
  
(She held her breath and hoped it would never end.)


End file.
